Malcolm, My Boy
by lolliipxps
Summary: Martin has been waiting for the day Malcolm returned, and he wasn't disappointed.


Martin never planned to be a father. No designs made in advance, and certainly no preparation. Hell, the thought never would have occurred to him, not with the life he lived. More often than not, he didn't care about mundane things, could never settle for a mundane life.

Malcolm changed all that, even before he was born. The moment he put his hand on his wife's bump and felt his boy kick… Words couldn't do the joy he felt justice. His boy was going to be perfect. Most importantly, he would carry on his father's legacy. His prodigal son.

_"Sometimes I think up love this baby more than you love me." _Jessica always said it with a playful laugh, but he could feel doubt every time.

Quite frankly, he never gave a damn about her. Their relationship wasn't built on love, at least not for him. No, he just used her to appear mundane. To live under the guise of a loving, supporting husband. It was a key to his survival, no matter how many bodies piled up. So of course he would put on a loving smile, give her nice hug, and tell her exactly what she wanted to hear. That there was no way he could possibly love an unborn child more than his wife. All lies to keep her happy, lies that she easily bought.

Nine months later Malcolm was born, and happiness he felt when watching the light fade from his victims was nothing in comparison. Malcolm truly was perfection. Everything Martin imagined he would be.

_"Malcolm, my beautiful boy. You don't know just how perfect you are." _So perfect that Malcolm rarely cried, only doing so when he needed something bad enough. The biggest thing was separation; specifically from his father. Gave Jessica trouble left and right. Malcolm was daddy's boy after all. It was all worth it when he came home to smile his son's face, arms flailing excitedly every time.

The connection they had only got stronger the older Malcolm got. Then imagine his surprise when the boy started to show interest in murder investigations and psychology. All without his initial influence. Truly a sign that they were the same.

Looking back, as he sat at the desk in his cell, he still remembered Malcolm fondly. His Malcolm. His Malcolm who had stumbled across the body in his study. His Malcolm who made the call that landed him here. More importantly, his Malcolm that he hadn't seen or heard from in 10 years. Yet he still clung on to the hope that his boy would come back to him.

During that time neither his wife or daughter bothered to visit. Left him to him to his own devices for 20 years. Malcolm was all he had, would ever have now.

"Doctor Whitly, get ready for company." A slight turn of the head and raised eyebrow being the default response. "I told you before, I don't want visitors and I've already had phone time."

"It's your son, Doctor Whitly." Opposition immediately evaporated at the announcement. Needless to say, the Doctor was on his feet. Surely this wasn't too good to be true? His son, who last he checked, was in the FBI… In which case, what was he doing back here? Whatever the circumstances, his boy was home.

A long, Cheshire like grin etched itself into his features. Absentmindedly he wondered if anything had changed. What state would his mental state be in? Did he have a girlfriend? A lover? Was he taking care of himself? He wanted to know _everything _about his Malcolm.

Satisfaction washed over his very being the moment Malcolm came into view. Years certainly did his boy favors. Though, Malcolm's body language conveyed fatigue, uncertainty in his eyes. No words had to be spoken for Martin to know being here was a last resort decision.

"Malcolm, my boy." Grin shaped more into a smile, a ping of hurt in his chest from the way Malcolm was looking at him.

"Doctor Whitly." The apathetic response caught him off guard but he was good at hiding that. Because his boy was there, oh so close to him, yet so far.

"I can't believe it, ten years." Martin shook his head at the thought. Instead of an immediate response, there was the briefest moments silence. Plenty of time to drink Malcolm in. So much restrain between them…

"Nice cell." Both glanced around the room. "Who paid for it?"

"Oh, you would be amazed at how much one pays a disgraced cardiothoracic surgeon." Martin noticed the ring around Malcolms eye's. Definitely looked like his boy had some restless nights. "Your eyes…" The smile altogether dropped, chains jangling as the eldest stepped forward with concern. "You look exhausted."

"Yet you look fresh as a daisy, funny how that works."

A witty response, amusing the disgraced Doctor very much. "Well, I'm a vegan now, and I haven't seen your mother in twenty years." The last bit was a joke, which he found funny. The same apparently couldn't be said about Malcolm. A cold chill ran down his spine. "Please have a seat." He gestured towards the seat at the desk. "Take a load off. How's your sister?"

"You have a copycat." Martin Whitly was both utterly flabbergasted and pleased at the same time. It was very pleasuring, knowing his work was well appreciated.

"Really?" Another set of chuckles followed. "Well, I'm flattered." The smile that had briefly returned fell again when Malcolm didn't share the excitement. "And, uh, deeply concerned."

"Save it, I know you're helping him." The air in the room shifted drastically. Tension increased, especially when _his _drawings were in Malcolms hands. _His missing drawings. _"How did you get those?"

"From our killer because you're helping him. Who is he? Why are you helping him?" Instantaneously he objected to accusation but there was an underlying sense of pride. His boy was helping solve essentially his crimes. Oh how proud he was of the man his son grew up to be.

Something that didn't go unnoticed was how fast Malcolm found the missing pages, and more importantly went through his patient files. His boy was fast, had a keen eye because of the two definitely fit the profile he assumed Malcolm came up with. Though it hurt hearing his son accuse him, doubting him. (But oh did he enjoy being this close his boy after so long…)

Desperation and worry officially set in. Worry a byproduct of his fear of this being the only time he'd see Malcolm. If he cooperated now he wouldn't come back. So, no matter how much Malcolm goaded him, he gave no response. Yet there was a sense of fascination. Every little quirk dispayed his boy read like an open book, _understanding how he thought. _He was in awe.

Only upon a promised return did he provide Malcolm with the information he was looking for. "Thank you, Doctor Whitly."

A crazed, smug, knowing smile graced his features as a door separated them. Malcolm might be the profiler here, but Martin knew a thing or two. For instance, the younger mans ticks? That was enough to give an idea of unhingement. Under the guise he wore, was a spiraling man. A man that would always come back to where he belonged. Yes, his boy truly was _his _.


End file.
